


Stealth Level: Drunken Baby

by TotidemVerbis



Series: HBO War One Shots And Drabbles [8]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: (I don't think it's platonic but you believe what you want), Gen, M/M, i have no idea what this is, not quite angst, not quite fluff, possibly platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 14:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotidemVerbis/pseuds/TotidemVerbis
Summary: Brad has Ray's entrances timed like clockwork.





	Stealth Level: Drunken Baby

Brad watches his clock tick over past two a.m. and then flips the sheet off of his legs. His house is quiet as he walks through it to get to the kitchen, and he just turns on one light as he starts pulling out everything he needs. It doesn’t take him long to get everything prepared just the way he wants it, and he’s pulling a bottle of water out of his fridge when he first hears it. Just a quiet little thump, feet against carpet, and he holds himself still as his whole body strains towards the sound. 

Nothing…nothing…nothing…the quiet creak of bedsprings, soft rustling of sheets, headboard rocking as weight is pushed against it. 

Right on time. 

He picks up his plate and his water bottle, and he leans over to flick off the light switch with his elbow. He makes his footsteps deliberately loud as he walks through the house this time, to announce his arrival, and he uses his knee to push his bedroom door open. The lamp on his bedside table is on, and Ray is leaning his back against his headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him. He’s even got his arms crossed behind his head and is grinning over at Brad like he’s won something, and Brad quickly looks at his eyes. (Clear, focused.)

“Alright, give it up, homes. How’d you know I was in here?” Ray asks when Brad keeps walking as if nothing is out of the ordinary. 

“You make more noise than a drunken baby,” Brad answers and sits next to him on the bed. On his bed. At least Ray isn’t wearing shoes this time. 

“You have a sick and twisted mind, Iceman. I’m just sayin’,” Ray says and pats his shoulder. Brad’s sitting in the same position as Ray now. Back against the headboard, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, but he’s holding the plate in his lap and a water bottle in his other hand. “Oh shit! Is that peanut butter and jelly?! Wait, dude, you cut it in half?”

“Ray.” He draws Ray’s name out slowly, which makes Ray look away from the sandwich that has been cut into two perfect triangles and up at Brad’s face, and he doesn’t continue until Ray is focused on him and not the food. “Did you break into my home to critique my eating choices?”

“Nah, just wanted to see your pretty face.” Ray’s grin is sharp, and he’s got half of a sandwich triangle shoved into his mouth before Brad can respond. So he just rolls his eyes at Ray’s usual antics and picks up his half of the sandwich. 

The first time Ray broke into Brad’s house, through his bedroom window, was about a week after Ray had been honorably discharged from the military. He’d been scarce that week, and Brad hadn’t been expecting him to drop in unannounced at two in the morning by coming in through the window. He’d already had a gun out and pointed in Ray’s general direction before he realized that the lump laughing on his carpet and smelling strongly of cheap whiskey was his former RTO. He’d gotten Ray into his guest room and fixed him breakfast the next day to help with his hangover, and they never talked about why Ray showed up. Or the how. 

The second time Ray broke in through the window, Brad had woken up ready to fight but hadn’t pulled a firearm at least. Ray had been drunk that time too and had slurred his words as he laid sideways across Brad’s bed, and Brad had just let him be. Let him ramble himself into unconsciousness and had then carried him into the guest room to finish sleeping it off. Ray was gone by the time Brad had woken up the next day, and neither one of them ever brought up the weird meetings again. 

When Ray decided to stay in California to go back to college, Brad hadn’t expected the weird meetings to continue. The next several times, Ray had been so drunk that Brad had been grudgingly impressed that he could even climb through the window. The few times after that, Ray had only been mildly tipsy and Brad had been able to keep up with his ramblings. Now, the past handful of times this has happened, Ray has been completely sober. Like tonight. Brad can also predict when Ray’s going to show up via his bedroom as well. Ray will get uncharacteristically quiet for a few days, he’ll cancel a plan that they have to hang out, and he’ll show up that night.

So when Ray said he couldn’t make it to their lunch earlier that day, Brad knew that he’d be sneaking in through the window. Ray seemed to prefer two a.m., so Brad had taken a nap that afternoon in order to stay awake. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich is for Ray, because he’d mentioned them being one of his favorite comfort foods during one of his long drunken ramblings. Brad just cut them in half to make splitting them a little easier. 

Ray is still messily chewing his own sandwich half when a breeze rolls through the room, and Brad watches him shiver before he scoots to the edge of the bed. He sounds like he’s struggling to swallow as he closes the left-open window, and he’s poking his own cheek as he walks back over to the bed. The mattress bounces as he flops down onto it, and Brad holds still as Ray wiggles closer. When he settles, he’s closer than he was to start with. Their shoulders are brushing now, and Ray throws his legs across Brad’s while trying to unstick the peanut butter from the roof of his mouth. 

Brad sighs and holds out his water bottle, and Ray snatches it away to start taking long gulps. If he keeps at it, the water bottle will be completely empty before Brad can take another sip. It’s a good thing he has another one stashed next to the bed. While Ray is busy attempting to drown himself, Brad finally starts the conversation that they’ve both been ignoring. 

“You know my house has a door, right? You don’t always have to come in through the window.” Ray looks over at him and slowly lowers the water bottle, and Brad quickly grabs it. There’s still a little left in the bottom, which means that he can wash his own sandwich down. Once that’s done, he moves the empty bottle and the plate onto his bedside table. 

“More fun that way. Helps me keep my skills sharp,” Ray says and shrugs. The thin tee shirt he’s wearing drags across Brad’s bare shoulder, because he only sleeps in shorts when he wears anything at all, and he leans his head back against the headboard to look at the ceiling. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks while looking at the ceiling. He doesn’t like talking about shit, but he can’t let Ray keep breaking into his house through his bedroom window. There’s obviously something wrong with Ray, with the person that Brad can admit is the one person that he genuinely cares about and sort of needs to have around, but he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to _fix_ Ray. 

“Homes, that is a conversation that would outlast our combined lifetimes.” Brad sighs, because that doesn’t help him at all, and Ray’s sigh is louder. “I don’t know…it’s just my head. Some days it gets too loud.”

There’s an insult on the tip of his tongue, Brad can actually feel the words burning in his throat, but he swallows instead. His instincts are telling him that he’s in a dangerous situation, and that he needs to be careful. So he turns his head to the side to look at Ray, and he’s surprised that Ray is already looking at him. He looks healthier than he did in Iraq. He’s got more weight on him now and his energy isn’t nearly as manic, but the dark look in his eyes makes Brad think of Iraq. It’s the kind of look that Ray isn’t supposed to have anymore. 

“How do I fix it?” The words just kind of fall out, and Ray’s smile looks tired.

“Fuck if I know. It’s just quieter around you.”

Brad thinks that over for a moment, processes it, and then reacts. Ray makes a sound that Brad categorizes as a squawk as Brad’s arms wrap around him, but Ray doesn’t fight as Brad moves him. Ray might have gained some of the muscle he lost in the desert, but Brad’s still bigger than him. So he easily maneuvers Ray down to lay on the bed, on his side and facing towards the window that he’s always climbing through, and Brad stretches out behind him. He locks one arm around Ray’s middle and hauls him in close, and he hooks his chin over the top of Ray’s head. His hair has grown out since he left the Corps, and it’s gotten thick and soft. Ray wiggles around until he feels more comfortable, and it only takes a moment before he relaxes completely against the bed and Brad. 

“Will you stop using the window now?” Brad asks. Ray is relaxed, but he’s still awake. His bare toes keep wiggling against Brad’s shins. 

“Probably not,” Ray answers truthfully. Brad knows that Ray’s going to have to talk about whatever is bothering him eventually, but he’s not going to push him tonight.

Tomorrow. Brad will sit Ray down and make him talk, and he’ll buy some window locks. 

(Ray finally does talk.)

(Brad never buys the window locks.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
